Harry Potter Filming Locations in London

Harry Potter in London!

After watching the Harry Potter movies, it's tempting to
want to head off to London to experience the city seen in
the films firsthand. Even though the final film wrapped
production years ago, many of the actual London filming
locations can still be visited today, although some have
changed a bit since filming. In August 2018, Jen from
mydreamcametrue.com journeyed to London to see what
these sites look like now.

Leaky Cauldron entrance

The entrance as it appeared in Harry Potter and the
Sorcerer's (aka: Philosopher's) Stone:

The location in 2018:

In case you're curious, here's a
side view:

Leadenhall Market

The market as it appeared in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's
Stone:

The market in 2018:

King's Cross station

The station as it appeared in Harry Potter and the
Sorcerer's Stone:

The station in 2018:

Note: In 2009, Handyside Bridge
(the footbridge that Harry and Hagrid walked across in Harry
Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone) was removed from King's
Cross Station. It was relocated to a small train station
outside of London, in Hampshire, at the Watercress Line. The
photo above was taken from the modern bridge that replaced
it.

St Pancreas Station

The station as it appeared in Harry Potter and the Chamber
of Secrets:

The station in 2018:

Scotland Yard

Scotland Yard as it appeared in Harry Potter and the Order
of the Phoenix:

The same location in 2018:

Note: The phone booth was
temporarily placed in this location by the film crew. The
bridge seen in the film actually exists on an adjacent
street. It was digitally added after filming, apparently to
hide the big door.

The bridge in its real-life
location:

Scotland Yard as it appeared in
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1:

Jen from mydreamcametrue.com at the same location in 2018:

Other Harry-Potter-related
things to do in and around London:

1. Shop at House of MinaLima

This fantastic shop located in London's West End is run by
the artists behind the graphics seen on the newspapers,
signs, books, boxes, etc. in the Harry Potter films. You can
buy all sorts of cool souvenirs from greeting cards to
limited-edition prints. For a special treat, take a free
tour of the multi-story shop. Check the store's official
website for tour dates and times and for special events.

2. See Harry Potter and the
Cursed Child at the Palace Theatre

My mom and I saw Harry Potter and the Cursed Child at
Broadway's Lyric Theatre in New York, and were delighted by
the beautiful sets, cool special effects, and phenomenal
acting.

3. Go to the Warner Bros.
Studios Tour London – The Making of Harry Potter

Warner Bros. Studios Leavesden is easily accessible from
London in about an hour by taking an express train from
Euston Station to Watford Junction and then a dedicated
studio tour bus at Watford Junction. The highlights of the
studio visit for me were standing inside the actual Great
Hall from the Harry Potter movies and seeing the detailed,
giant model of Hogwarts Castle and its environs used for
some exterior shots in the films. Tickets for this
mostly-self-guided tour of the costumes, props, sets, set
pieces, and other exhibits related to the Harry Potter
movies must be purchased before arrival and usually sell out
months in advance (although cancellations sometimes occur
close to the dates).

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Hunger Games readers who want to discover
something new ...

HER FIRST EIGHTEEN YEARS WERE FILLED WITH LIES. SHE IS ABOUT
TO DISCOVER THE TRUTH.

Eighteen-year-old Seven and her best friend, Ten, live where
all is peaceful ... except for the violent war raging above
the sky. Lifelike humanoid robots and self-operated drones
tend to everyone's needs, leaving people free to spend their
time stimulating their minds and enjoying life's pleasures.
But there are strict rules and few choices.

Every year, on Assignment Day, the path of each
eighteen-year-old's life is laid out. Some are given the
jobs for which they have shown exceptional aptitude and are
"paired" for mating. The others are sent off to fight in The
War and never return.

When Assignment Day comes for Seven, the assignments shatter
everything she's ever believed. The rules force everyone to
accept their fates, but Seven decides to do something
unprecedented: to go against the Decision Makers' wishes.

Check out Above the Sky, the unforgettable novel that is
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Our teacher, Professor Adam, doesn’t know we’re just going
through the motions. He doesn’t understand that nothing he’s
saying really matters anymore. This classroom, and
everything that happens inside it, once seemed big and
important. Now it all seems silly and insignificant. I try
to pay attention, because we’re supposed to, but my mind
can’t focus on the present. It’s too busy thinking about the
future. A future where every life in this room is in
jeopardy.

Every one of the eighteen years I’ve been alive has been
leading up to what’s going to happen in less than
forty-eight hours—on Assignment Day—when the path of the
rest of my life will be determined, just as it has been for
every eighteen-year-old for as long as anyone can say. On
Assignment Day, my classmates and I will find out what our
adult jobs will be. Some of us will become computer
technologists, or doctors, or agriculturists. But some of us
will become warriors. Warriors are sent above the sky—to
fight in The War—to defend us. They will never return.

The professor stands stiffly at the podium. From this
distance, he appears human, but like all professors, he’s a
robot. The twenty-eight students at the twenty-eight
individual desks arranged in four semi-circular rows in
front of him sit facing straight ahead. Everything in the
room is plain white, except for the blue letters and numbers
on the screen behind the professor’s head that illustrate
what he’s saying. There are no distractions, except for the
thoughts running through my brain.

To my right is my sister. We’re identical twins. She was
born twenty-two minutes before me. Because our names are
determined by our birth order, she is Two Thousand Six, and
I am Two Thousand Seven. Six and I have the same shade of
light-brown hair and the same tiny flecks of gold in our
hazel eyes, and we’re both exactly five feet three inches
tall. But we’re far from alike. Her eyes are intensely
focused on the lecture.

I glance at my best friend, Ten. I can tell by the
glassiness of his eyes that his mind isn’t on the lecture at
all. Even without looking at my navigator, I know it’s
almost the end of the school day because Ten’s short brown
hair, just a bit darker than mine, which starts every day
neatly combed flat and parted to one side like all of the
other boys, is as tousled as the rules will allow. I think
it’s because the waves in his hair stage a daily rebellion
against the gel used to try to control them. My hair is wavy
too, but wavy hair is easier to manage for girls; once hair
is gelled and secured in a tight bun—as it is required to be
whenever we are in public—it more or less stays there.

“Two Thousand Seven!” Professor Adam calls out.

Hearing my full name rips me to attention.

“Pay attention please, Seven,” he scolds.

I turn my focus to the professor and will myself to think
about calculus.

But before Professor Adam starts to speak again … the room
begins to shake.

Just like it has done many times before.

“Down. Down. Duck and cover,” Professor Adam says in the
type of singsong voice usually reserved for small children.

I slide to the ground and kneel underneath my desk with my
hands over my head. The desks don’t move, because they are
bolted to the floor, but the lights above us tremble at the
ends of the skinny wires that suspend them. There is a soft
boom, boom, boom …

We all know why everything is shaking. It’s because of The
War. Above the sky, a battle is raging. Every once in a
while, The War intensifies so horribly that everything
shakes and we feel how very close we are to danger. Even
though the shaking has happened many times in my life, my
pulse still quickens, wondering if this will be the time
that The War will break through the sky and make everything
crumble into dust.

I don’t like that The War is intensifying so close to
Assignment Day.

“Psst,” I hear someone say.

I cringe and turn my head just enough to confirm what I
already know: the “psst” is from Twelve. As always, every
strand of his thick, black hair is in perfect position.

“Don’t ‘psst’ me,” I hiss at him.

Twelve’s gaze moves over my body. Suddenly, I feel
self-conscious about the way my white jumpsuit hugs the
curves of my chest, my hips, and my bottom. The jumpsuits
hug everyone’s bodies just as tightly as they hug mine, but
other people don’t look at one another the way Twelve is
looking at me now. It isn’t allowed.

Twelve has been tormenting me ever since kindergarten. On
the first day of class, he sat down next to me and watched
me cut a circle from a piece of pink colored paper. Him
staring at me made me so nervous that my hands shook. But
when I finally finished cutting, I was proud of my little
circle.

Twelve looked at my circle and smirked. “You cut yucky.”

I stared at the pink circle that I held in my hand. Twelve
was right: it was ugly. The edges were raggedy and jagged.
It certainly didn’t look like the pretty orange circle that
Twelve had just finished cutting out. I felt my cheeks
redden. I felt inadequate. I wanted to cry, but somehow I
knew that I shouldn’t let the tears flow in front of Twelve.
As I turned away from him, Ten caught my eye. He wrinkled
his nose at Twelve. Fortunately, Twelve didn’t see it, but
unfortunately, I giggled.

“What’s so funny?” Twelve demanded.

“Nothing,” I said.

Twelve grabbed my pathetic paper circle and ripped it into a
bunch of tiny pink pieces. I started crying. Twelve laughed
so hard that I thought he might pee himself, but sadly, he
didn’t.

That was the beginning of the worst relationship I’ve ever
had. Over the years, Twelve has continued to tear me down
every chance he gets. Ten says I shouldn’t let Twelve get to
me. And he’s right. But I can’t help it.

Twelve creeps closer to me. We’re still under our desks
because the room is still shaking, and so Professor Adam
can’t see us.

Twelve smiles. “I was just thinking about what it would be
like if you and I get paired together.”

My stomach tightens. On Assignment Day, after we receive our
jobs, every eighteen-year-old will be paired with someone of
the opposite gender—except for the warriors; warriors are
not paired. Each pair is given a domicile, where they must
live together for the rest of their lives and raise their
children. Being paired with Twelve would be torture.

“If we get paired,” I growl to Twelve, “I’ll volunteer to be
a warrior.”

He rolls his eyes at me, as if I just said the stupidest
thing ever, “You can’t volunteer to become a warrior.
You have to get chosen. Besides, you know what happens to
warriors, don’t you?”

I do. At least I think I do. No one knows for sure.

“They die,” Twelve says. “All of them die.”

“Being dead would be better than being paired with you,” I
shoot back.

I don’t want to die, but I don’t think I could survive
living in the same domicile as Twelve. Or raising a child
with him.

And, if am paired with Twelve, we’ll be expected to fall in
love with each other.

I could never make myself love Twelve, no matter how hard I
tried.

* * *

When the chimes indicate the end of the school day, I jump
to my feet and race out of the classroom. I go to the place
where only one person will come looking for me. And he does.

“What’d Twelve say this time?” Ten asks as he slides into
our little hiding spot, inside the aerial drone tunnel under
the tenth floor walkway, high above the plaza garden, close
to the sky. Drones carrying small brown packages whiz
through the air above our heads.

“He wants to be paired with me,” I say, hugging my knees
against my chest to make room for Ten.

Ten sits down opposite me. “There’s no way they’ll pair you
with Twelve. They monitor us for compatibility. I’m sure
they’ve noticed that the two of you don’t get along. They’ll
most likely pair you with …”

I raise my eyebrows, holding back a smile. “Who?”

Ten looks away. “Who do you think?”

“You?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

My cheeks flush with heat. “You’re probably right.”

Ten and I have been best friends ever since we were babies.
My first memory of him is from when we were three years old.
It’s actually my first memory of anything. I was standing at
the window of my family’s domicile. I looked far across the
way and saw little Ten standing at his family’s window. I
wanted to reach out and touch him, but he was so far away
that I couldn’t. I pressed my palms against the glass of my
window. Ten smiled and put his palms up against his window.
And I felt him. I felt the warmth of his hands
through the cold glass. Or I imagined I did.

My next memory of Ten is from when we were in preschool. I
was sitting on a pillow in the story circle of the
four-year-olds’ classroom, looking at an old-fashioned
picture book with cardboard pages that you turn with your
hands. When I looked up, I noticed Ten sitting on the floor
by the craft table, all alone. He looked so miserable. I
wanted to make him feel better. I put down the book and
walked over to him.

I stopped right in front of Ten and held up my hands, palms
facing him, as if there were an imaginary window between us.
He put his hands up too, palms facing mine.

Very slowly, we moved our hands closer and closer together.
Until … they touched. Ever so gently. A warm, tingly feeling
traveled from my fingers, through my arms, to my heart. All
of the sadness drained from Ten’s face. His expression
became one of pure delight.

I never forgave Miss Barbara for that, but I guess I should.
She was just following the rules. We’re not allowed to touch
non-family members, unless we’re paired with them. And even
then, only in private.

If Ten and I are paired, we’ll be allowed to touch each
other.
A tingle springs from my chest and dances over my body. I
take a breath to make the feeling go away and slide close to
the end of the tunnel. Just centimeters separate me from a
ten-story drop to the plaza garden below.

“You’re such a daredevil,” Ten says moving up next to me.
“Better watch out or they’ll make you a warrior.”

I look toward the sky. It’s already starting to turn that
orange-red color that means the day is fading. “I wonder
what it’s like above the sky,” I say hesitantly. We’re not
supposed to talk about Up There, but it’s hard not to think
about it given that, soon, some of the people who I’ve grown
up with will be going there. “Aren’t you even curious?” I
ask. Ten is curious about everything.

“But what is The War? What does it look like?” I keep
my voice soft. We shouldn’t be talking about this.

Ten squeezes his hands together tightly. “Do you remember
when Mr. Fifty-three fell off the walkway?”

“I think he jumped—”

“It doesn’t matter whether he fell or jumped. Remember what
he looked like afterward? Bloody and deformed?”

I try not to picture it, but my mind instantly calls up the
image of Mr. Fifty-three lying on a flowerbed. His flesh
torn. His head at a right angle to his body. The red of his
blood nearly matched the red of the roses. I remember
staring at him as my mom tried to pull me away.

“Mommy, aren’t you going to take him to the hospital and fix
him?” I asked her. My mom is a doctor. Even at five years
old, I’d already heard countless stories of the sick people
she helped make all better. I didn’t understand why she
wasn’t helping Mr. Fifty-three.

“I can’t, Seven,” she said. “I wish I could. But he’s just
too broken. He has to stay dead.”

I’d never seen a dead person before.

I shake away the memory and look back at Ten.

“That’s
what The War looks like,” he says roughly. He scoots back
from the edge and gets to his feet. “We’re going to be late
for evening recreation.”

I look down at the roses far below us. Beautiful and lush.
Wetted years ago by the blood of Mr. Fifty-three.

Suddenly, I feel the danger of being so close to the edge. I
slide back and follow Ten up to the safety of the walkway.

* * *

“Today, we are going to play a game called War,” a
deep-voiced man says. He is big and muscular, and his skin
is dark, almost black. I don’t recall having seen him
before. I wonder if he’s a human or a robot until I notice
beads of sweat on his forehead. Robots don’t sweat.

For the past year, one day per week, our evening recreation
period has been decidedly different. Instead of the usual
physical fitness activities, like jogging, push-ups and
pull-ups, we’ve been doing tasks that involve intricate
problem solving, like fixing a malfunctioning computer or
building an aerial drone. Of course, we all know why. We’re
being tested to determine our assignments. Once assignments
are given, they cannot be changed, and so the Decision
Makers need to be sure they’re making the right choices.

Although my classmates and I are standing in the entry room
for the gymnasium, it’s obvious that this evening we’ll be
doing another test.It sounds like we’re going to be tested for warrior
skills. It seems strange that they would wait so late to
test us for warrior aptitude.

The man tells us that we’ve each been assigned to one of two
teams: blue or green. There are fourteen people on each
team. We are already wearing colored jumpsuits over our
white ones. Mine is green. Ten is next to me in a blue
jumpsuit. Six is on my other side, also in blue.

The man holds up a thick, black, L-shaped object, about
twice the size of his hand. My curiosity ignites, cooled by
apprehension.

“This
is a weapon,” the man says, offering it to me.

I hold out my hands, and he places the weapon onto them. I
almost drop it. It’s much heavier than I expected. I finally
get control of it, gripping it tightly, awkwardly with both
hands. My cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Some people give a stifled giggle.

“Quiet,” the man growls, instantly silencing them. He turns
to me. “Hold it like this,” he says, grasping a make-believe
weapon in the air. I hold the weapon the way he
demonstrates, both hands on the shorter bottom piece. Then
he points to a tiny, glowing, green dot on the wall in front
of me. “That light is coming from your weapon.” He draws an
imaginary circle over the center of Twelve’s chest with his
finger and says, “This is a ‘vital area.’ Shine your light
on this boy’s vital area.”

I move the weapon so that the light hits Twelve in the
center of his chest. Twelve cocks his head, trying to look
brave, but I see uneasiness rising on his face.

“Finger on the trigger.” The man flicks my right index
finger down with his finger. For a split second, I feel his
skin against mine. My face flushes, hot and numb. My heart
pounds in my throat. This man TOUCHED me.

The mouths of my classmates gape, their eyes shift uneasily,
and their bodies are as stiff as if the touch happened to
them instead of me.

It was just his finger touching my finger, but non-family
members are not allowed to touch. That’s a rule. This man is
the first adult I’ve ever seen break that rule. I wait for a
security drone to come swallow him up and take him away to
be punished, but nothing happens.

I feel less safe now than a moment ago. I slip my trembling
index finger into the little opening in the base of the
weapon, and rest it against a piece of metal sticking out
there.

“Press the trigger,” the man says so softly that I’m not
sure whether I heard him right.

“What happens when she presses the trigger?” Twelve squeaks.

The man shakes his head abruptly, dismissing Twelve’s
question. “PRESS THE TRIGGER!” he bellows.

His voice sends a jolt into me so unexpected that I tighten
my grip on the weapon. White light shoots out of the front
of it, heading toward Twelve. At the same time, the weapon
shoves itself back at me, almost hitting me in the face. The
chest of Twelve’s jumpsuit illuminates with gushes of red
light, like blood flowing from a large, invisible wound, as
Twelve’s body slams into the wall with so much force that
there is a loud metallic boom when he hits it. He slides to
the floor, his eyes wide open.

“What happened to him?” I ask, my heart racing.

“You killed him. He’s dead,” the man says calmly.

“What?” Twelve croaks.

The man rolls his eyes. “Relax, it’s only a game.” He pushes
a button and the gymnasium door opens. The light
extinguishes from Twelve’s jumpsuit. It’s plain blue again.
“Get up, Two Thousand Twelve.”

The man turns to the rest of us and gestures to the rack
inside the gymnasium door. “Everyone take a weapon and
proceed into the arena. Your objective is to kill as many
people on the opposite team as you can. If you don’t hit a
vital area, they don’t die.” He looks at Twelve and
continues, “Once you’re dead, you’re useless, so try not to
die.”

The testing sessions are always like this. We’re given very
little instruction, and then we’re thrown into the task.
They’re evaluating us to see how well we can figure things
out on our own.

I throw an uncertain glance to Ten and Six and race into the
arena. I already have a weapon, and so I take this
opportunity to get a head start.

The gymnasium is dark, but I can distinguish panels of
portable wall scattered about and piles of cardboard boxes.
I run deep into the room and hide behind some boxes. Far
away, I hear people yelling. Squeals of pain. Bodies
slamming into things. The sounds are getting closer. I peek
around the edge of a box and see a girl in a blue jumpsuit
“kill” a boy in a green jumpsuit. I’m not sure who they are.
I can’t make out their faces in the darkness. The boy moans
in pain and crumples onto the floor. The girl steps over the
boy’s body as if he’s a discarded object and heads toward
me.

Now I can see the killer girl well enough to identify her by
her dark skin, black hair, and hooked nose; she’s Three. I
shine the light of my weapon on her chest and quickly press
the trigger. In that same instant, Three whips her weapon
toward me. As red light spills across Three’s chest, a sharp
sting hits my left arm and red light streams down it. I grit
my teeth to prevent a scream from alerting other people to
my location. I’ve been hurt, but I’m not dead. Three is.

Three stares up at me as I move past her, her face contorted
with pain. Other than her rapid breathing, she lies
completely motionless.

A weapon appears from around the edge of a wall. And then a
boy’s face. It’s Ten.

“Ten!” I whisper.

He gestures for me to join him. I run to him, keeping my eye
out for danger, and slip behind his wall.

Red light is dripping down both of Ten’s legs.

“Does it hurt a lot?” I ask him, gesturing to his legs.

“When it first happened, it felt almost as bad as breaking
my ankle when I was a kid,” he says. “Now it’s just
throbbing. The worst part is, the red light makes me easier
to spot.”

I show him my arm. It’s throbbing too. I think the jumpsuit
is producing the throbbing by intermittently constricting
around my upper arm, never quite releasing its grip on me.

“It’s only red on one side,” Ten says. “Try to keep the
light hidden against your body.”

I smile. “You’re not supposed to give me helpful tips. I’m
on the other team.”

“I guess I missed that rule. The only rule I heard was that
you’re supposed to kill as many people on the other team as
you can.”

“Then I guess we should try to kill each other.” My heart
speeds up, anticipating the pain.

Ten shakes his head. “Are you kidding? I’m not going to kill
you.”

“The game probably won’t end until one of us is dead.” If I
have to die, I want Ten to kill me. Then he’ll be there to
comfort me when I’m hurting.

“I’ll see you at dinner.” Ten turns away, heading back into
the game.

“You’re not going to try to kill me?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t already try to kill me.
You’re the one who wants to be a warrior.”

I wanted to know what it’s like Up There, and now I do.
This is what it’s like: people killing one another with
weapons. And when they kill someone, they really die, like
Mr. Fifty-three.

“I don’t want to be a warrior,” I say, finally certain of
that.

“Good,” Ten says. He glances around the edge of the wall and
then disappears past it. I peer around the wall and watch
him. He gets safely to another hiding spot, and I exhale. I
didn’t want to see him die.

I go in the other direction. I don’t want to risk
encountering Ten again in this game. We’re already probably
going to be scolded for not killing each other when we had
the chance.

The gymnasium is quiet, except for soft sounds of pain, I
assume from the dead. I pass a whimpering blond-haired boy
in a green jumpsuit, Nine. Red light spills from his chest.
His left leg lies at an awkward angle, bent at the knee and
stuck beneath his other leg.

“My leg. It hurts,” he whispers.

I crouch down next to him. “Is it broken?”

“I don’t think so, but I can’t move,” he says, worried.

“I’ll get help for you,” I say.

Panic floods his face. “Look behind you!” Nine shouts.

I turn and see Twelve standing just a few feet away, his
weapon raised. I spin toward him and shine my light on his
vital area, but he kicks the weapon from my hand before I
can press the trigger. I curl my body into a ball, so he
can’t get his light on my vital area, and reach for my
fallen weapon. It’s just outside my grasp.

“Take mine,” Nine moans.

Nine’s weapon is close enough to reach, but I notice
something. On my weapon there is a little red light on the
base. It’s lit. On Nine’s weapon, the light is off. His
weapon is dead, just like him.

Twelve smiles. “Go ahead, take Nine’s weapon.”

Twelve must know that Nine’s weapon is dead.
I shake my head.

“Well, you’d better do something,” Twelve says.

“Why?” I ask, feeling bolder than usual. “You can’t get to
my vital area when I’m like this.”

“No.” Twelve shines his light on my left leg. My pulse
races. “But I can get you in the leg. And that’ll hurt. A
lot. Eventually, I’m going to kill you. Why don’t you save
yourself some pain? Just lie down, and I’ll kill you nice
and easy and quick.”

“No,” I say, my eyes fixed on his.

Light erupts from Twelve’s weapon.

Pain, worse than any I’ve experienced, grips my right arm. “Ow!”
I yell. “I thought … you were going to … get my leg.”

He smirks. “Oh, sorry.” He puts his light on my left leg. “Now
I’m going to get your leg.”

Light erupts from his weapon again, and pain rips into me. I
clutch my leg to my chest even though it begs to extend. I
can’t risk exposing my vital area.

“Twelve! What are you doing?” a girl’s voice calls out from
behind me. I recognize the voice instantly. Six.

As he raises his weapon toward her, Six ducks behind a tall
box. She peeks her head and weapon out. Twelve scrambles
behind a wall and pokes his head and weapon out too.

“You’re not supposed to kill me,” Six says to him. “We’re on
the same team.”

“The instruction was to kill as many people on the other
team as you can, not to ensure the survival of those on your
own team,” he says.

Light erupts from Six’s weapon, heading toward Twelve. He
cries out as red light splashes down his left shoulder. I
use the distraction to dive forward and grab my weapon, but
before I can use it, light surges toward me from Twelve’s
weapon.

I collapse next to Nine, agony burning through my chest. My
whole body is paralyzed, except for my head. The red light
bouncing off the walls and boxes around us has doubled.
I’m dead.

Six kneels by my side. “Are you okay?”

“I guess so,” I say, “but I can’t move my body. I think the
jumpsuit paralyzes you when you die. That must be why the
dead people just lie there.”

Suddenly, Six raises her weapon and white light blasts from
it. Twelve moans in pain. I lift my head just in time to see
him fall to the ground, the center of his chest glowing red.

“You killed Twelve?” I ask.

She nods.

And then she falls to the floor. Between me and Nine. Red
light spilling from her back. I whip my head around to see
who killed her, but the killer is already gone.

“That really hurt.” Six winces. I can tell she’s
trying to move the rest of her body, but can’t. “I’m
paralyzed. You’re right; something happens to the jumpsuit
when you—”

A bloodcurdling scream comes from behind a pile of boxes. A
girl’s scream. And then a thud. The entire gymnasium goes
dark. Even the red light from our jumpsuits has been
extinguished.

“I think the game is over,” I say. I have a feeling that
everyone on either the green team or the blue team is now
dead.

And then there is a loud click. White light floods the
gymnasium. My paralysis instantly disappears. Six and I get
to our feet. Nine crawls into a sitting position, appearing
too weak to stand just yet. I look for Twelve and see that
he has vanished.

“Proceed to the entry room for debriefing,” a male
voice—that I’m sure belongs to the weapons instructor—says
over the speakers.

Even with the gymnasium lights on, it’s hard to tell which
way is out. The obstacles from the game are disorienting.
Once Nine is standing, Six and I lead the way, walking in as
straight a path as possible until we find one of the
gymnasium walls. We follow the wall until we find the exit.

A few people have already gathered in the gymnasium entry
room. They’re slumped against the wall, wearing just their
white jumpsuits. Some of them look as if they’re still
paralyzed, but I’m sure they’re merely exhausted. Twelve is
among them.

I unzip my green jumpsuit and hang it on the rack next to
the others. Then I sit against the wall, next to Three. I
feel like I should apologize for killing her, but no one
else is speaking. I give her a little nod and she nods back;
apparently all is forgiven. Six sits by my side. Nine sinks
down beside her.

Ten enters the room next. His eyes scan until he finds me,
but his easy smile doesn’t come. He removes his blue
jumpsuit and then sits next to Nine, keeping his head down.

Once everyone is back in the room, the weapons instructor
enters. “As always, you are not to discuss this activity
with anyone, not even each other,” he says in a low voice.
“You are dismissed.”

People slowly rise to their feet.

“Aren’t you going to say which team won?” Twelve mumbles.

Everyone freezes in place.

The man walks up to Twelve and puts his large head right in
front of Twelve’s face. “Did you not hear me?”

Twelve bristles. “I was just curious.”

“I said, ‘You are dismissed,’” the man growls. My skin turns
cold.

Twelve nods and backs toward the door. As soon as he’s close
to the exit, he gives the man one final uneasy look and then
slinks out of the room.

The rest of us remain immobile.

“YOU ARE ALL DISMISSED!” the man bellows.

We rush out of the room as if our legs can’t carry us fast
enough. Once I’m in the hallway, I feel my anxiety grow,
rather than diminish.

The day after tomorrow, about half my class will be selected
to be warriors. They will be sent to The War. A war like
this game.